


Letter from Tokyo

by DistantFieldsofRice



Series: Memoirs for Haikyuu [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Baklava, College, Cranberry juice, Gods, I still can't find my commas, I still don't really know what baklava is, It's a letter, Iwa in Tokyo, Iwa is kind of OOC, Makki throws annual parties, Mushrooms, Post-Canon, What Have I Done, broken smoothie blenders, cheesy metaphors, frozen freezer bananas, he probably never sent this letter, hour loops of songs, insane parties, ketchup, looking back, makes no sense to me, rice, screaming teenagers, smoothie blenders, zoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantFieldsofRice/pseuds/DistantFieldsofRice
Summary: It's been almost a year since Iwaizumi graduated from high school. He decides to write a letter to his friend, Oikawa.





	Letter from Tokyo

       I'm writing this today because I finally ate the frozen freezer bananas from a year ago, and Oikawa, they weren't that bad. I packed them up for safekeeping when the smoothie blender broke, and then I forgot to buy a new blender. When I did, it was around the time that a fitness website had me convinced that bananas were bad for your gut health, and then I forgot again. Everything snowballed and I made excuses, but I made a banana smoothie today, and it tasted fine. It tasted good.

       It's odd, the things we develop a taste for. I, for example, have come to love both cranberry juice and mushrooms, two things that bring great joy to my life but plague the lives of others. I love rice, hate ketchup, and don't believe in those gods and temples. But I know that you do.

       Since September I've cycled through a dozen or more hour-loops of awful, trashy songs, almost as trashy as you. I've watched my mother rock someone else's baby with a quiet, suppressed ferocity. I visited the zoo with her in the summer on a heavy, humid day, which I took to be symbolic, as I do most things. But that didn't work out, so now I make metaphors for you. Little cheesy ones, like how your hair looks like dog shit. That was a little mean, so I'll come up with another one: You're beautiful like the stars, when it gets dark out and they start shining. You looked like that when we talked at the top of the playground in the park that night in July; reflecting light from the fence, from the lake, from the moon.

       I'm living large in Tokyo, Oikawa. Exams are coming, but I'd spent the week before learning how to make this thing called baklava. I don't know if you've ever tried it, but it's sticky-sweet and top-heavy and maybe originated from Greece. I went Hanamaki's annual party, which was also top-heavy, and so swollen with teenage emotion that there was always someone outside, screaming their soul out into the rain. It's always raining during Hanamaki's parties. It always, always is.

**Author's Note:**

> It's kind of unfinished. I'll try to add on later.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
